


No Romo

by rjosettes



Series: Salem Academy of Sorcery [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aromantic Lydia Martin, F/F, Manicures & Pedicures, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjosettes/pseuds/rjosettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With only a few days left before the weekend, Allison asks Lydia to be her valentine. Some of her intentions get lost in translation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Romo

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TW Femslash Fic Rec Writing Challenge (06. an explicitly ace or aro character) and the TW Femslash Creators Network Valentine's Week!
> 
> Feel free to check out the rest of the Salem Academy 'verse!

Allison knows it's a good day when Lydia volunteers to paint her toenails with no prompting. They're chatting in the cloud of acetone fumes, sprawling themselves into three or four different positions before they find one that fits. Despite the fact that Lydia's bed is one of her own from home and not the standard dorm bunk, it's not easy getting Allison's feet into her lap without giving one or both of them back problems. The whole ordeal is only issue one on the list of Reasons This Never Happens.

“So, you're going to be my valentine, right?” Allison asks, once she knows Lydia is already settled in. It's a neat little trap, getting her started on something with a lot of fine detail before she asks the hard questions. None of her friends have mastered the casual topic drop except Jackson, who only pulls it off when he's being awful or doesn't mean what he's saying. (Or both – the overlap between the two gets more obvious the closer they get.) “It's our first February since....you know.”

Lydia glances up through her pale eyelashes, hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Sweetie, you've got a handful of valentines. Aren't you going on two separate dates this weekend to fit them all in?” She keeps her gaze fixed even as she blows a tingling breath across Allison's toes to dry the clear coat, slyly awaiting the blush that threatens to creep onto Allison's cheeks. “And – you didn't hear it from me – there's at least one more than satisfactory present in your future.”

“I'm not talking about presents,” she defends. “I'm not asking you to buy me something before Sunday; you only just got me those earrings on my birthday. I just thought...I didn't think you would want to be anyone else's. And I want you to be mine.”

The brush of fingertips on the soft skin of her feet makes her shiver, toes curling and earning her a quiet hiss of disapproval, the grip on them tightening. “Allison...” Lydia says, the rare tones of an apology swelling in her voice. She sounds tired. “Think about what you're asking from me.”

The pieces of the puzzle don't fit together just at first. Allison watches the stripes of bright red – convertible red, she'd always called it – spread across each nail, neat as a pin. She thinks of the first time she'd watch Lydia do this, painting delicate patterns as easily with her right hand as her left, her attention more on the task at hand than on Allison, who'd... Who'd been asking about Jackson, about why Lydia spent most of her public time with him but had never called him her boyfriend. Lydia hadn't said the word that day, or for weeks after, but the message itself had been loud and clear.

“I'm not asking you to be in love with me,” Allison blurts, and Lydia's hand slips, leaving a slash of color across her own knuckle as she looks up sharply. “I didn't mean to make it seem romantic. I just want to kiss my best friend and share a box of truffles and laugh at all of the cards you get in your locker and under your door. I want you to be my valentine your way. Our way.”

Lydia cleans herself up with the acetone rather than her magic, old square of t-shirt wrapped around her finger to protect her own still-flawless manicure. It's everything Allison can do not to hold her breath while she waits out an answer or forgiveness. “This color would look awful on me,” she says idly, lips pursing in thought. “Valentine's Day clashes with my hair.” When every bit of the smear is gone, she meets Allison's eyes at last. “You're sure you want to spend it with me?”

There's no opportunity to hug her, not when it would risk staining the beautiful bedspread. Hopefully, her smile is almost as warm and reassuring. “You're still my girlfriend,” Allison reminds her. “No romo.”

“No romo,” Lydia agrees, the tension in her shoulders dropping away. “Want to take bets on cards? Danny's got five on more Eberhardts than any other house.”

Her voice gets lighter as she goes on, analyzing Cora's chances of winning with her bet on more cards from students who aren't boys than ones who are. Allison watches her busy hands, the extension of her busy mind, and feels at home. There's no one she'd rather have as her valentine.


End file.
